


Visits

by katieelizabeth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, Fluff, His Last Vow Spoilers, Post-His Last Vow, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieelizabeth/pseuds/katieelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five visits.  Two from her, three from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately neither Sherlock or Molly belong to me.
> 
> This story is completely unbetaed so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments or constructive criticism, I would really appreciate it x x

She hated hospitals, which was strange considering she worked in one. Of course she stayed in the morgue and lab as much as she could; it was the wards she hated, with their rows of beds, beeping machines, drips, horrible blue papery curtains, drugs trolley’s and stacks of cardboard sick receptacles. All of it reminded her of her dad, sitting beside his bed watching him slip away right in front of her eyes. But still, she’d had to come and it wasn’t so bad since it was a private hospital though they still had cardboard sick receptacles.

Molly sighed and rearranged the bouquet of yellow roses, tulips and freesia’s she’d bought with her, for the millionth time. He was asleep, which he was doing a lot according to John, the reassuring beep from the heart monitor he was hooked up to, a soundtrack to her fussing. And she was fussing, she knew she was. The flowers had looked fine as soon as she’d put them in the vase but still she fiddled with them. 

It was so silly but she’d barely looked at him since she’d arrived, it was probably because the last time she’d seen him, she’d handed him a cup to pee in and then slapped him three times after she’d got the results and found out that he was as high as a kite, though she’d expected that as soon as she’d seen him. Still, since then he’d been shot in the chest and nearly died twice, and while the second time was entirely his own fault after he’d stupidly left the hospital and nearly bled out in 221b, that did rather put things into perspective.

With a final tweak of a rose leaf, she steeled herself and turned around, pulled a copy of Les Misérables from her canvas bag and sat in the comfy chair beside the bed. Only then did she finally look at him, seeing him like this was horrible, the amount of machines and wires making him look small and vulnerable. She didn’t like it at all, he was supposed to be the most self assured man in the room. Molly took in the hospital gown which was drawn up to his neck, thankfully hiding the dressing that she knew was covering the gunshot wound, the wires disappearing down the neck of the gown and the cannula in his arm. Next she studied his slightly ashen face, the dark bags under his eyes contrasting sharply with his pale skin. All in all it made for a pretty sorry picture, she was almost overwhelmed with the desire to look after him.

Tearing her eyes away, she opened her book and picked up the story of Jean Valjean and Cosette. She’d just reached the part where Marius sees Cosette for the first time when she paused and flicked her eyes up at him, as she’d been doing every few minutes, only to find him awake and watching her intently.

“Good book?” he asked after a few minutes of silence which was only broken up by the monotonous beeping, his voice was quiet and a little rough from under use.

She shrugged and closed the book in question. “I prefer the musical, actually…” he grimaced at that. “…how are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Can I get you anything? Water maybe.”

“No slap this time?” he muttered, ignoring her question and reaching for the small keypad resting beside his hand, moving his bed into a more upright position. He winced as it moved, his face contorted with pain that she wished she could take away.

She shook her head. “No…maybe when you’re better.”

“I didn’t realise you were such a sadist.”

Tutting, she shifted in her seat. “I’m not…and I apologise for last time.”

“Don’t. I deserved it.”

Molly gave a wry smile. “You did but still…maybe three times was excessive.”

“I needed it.”

She hummed softly and dropped her gaze to his hand which was still curled loosely around the bed keypad. The silence stretched between them again as she debated whether or not to ask the question that had been plaguing her since that day in the lab. In the end she decided to just get it over with. “Was it just for a case?” she asked uncertainly.

He raised his eyebrows. “Was what just for a case?”

“You know very well what, Sherlock. Answer the question. And please don’t lie to me.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat and exhaled loudly, shifting slightly on his pillows which made him grimace in pain.

She clenched her fists, tamping down the urge to take his hand. It wouldn’t help. “Well?” she said gently.

“Yes. At least that’s how it started…” he murmured, avoiding her gaze. “…I wanted to get Magnussen’s attention and staging a relapse seemed like the best thing to do. It was supposed to be one hit, in an attempt to blend in. But, as I’m sure you’re about it say, it is never just one hit.”

“Oh Sherlock…” she whispered. “…why didn’t you come to me?”

“You’ve done enough for me already. Besides, how would that have looked to Tom?”

Molly frowned. “Tom and I broke up right after the wedding…” she noticed a slight tightening around his eyes as she mentioned the ‘w’ word. “…after the ‘meat dagger’ comment, there really was no going back.” that raised a smiled, but it was gone quicker than it appeared. “I-I saw you leaving the reception early.”

“I know you did. No one else paid me any attention but you did. How is it that you always see me, Molly Hooper?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I look harder.”

“Maybe.”

Sighing, she looked down at her hands. “I should’ve followed you. I wanted to but with Tom it was…tricky.”

He didn’t reply for a long moment. And when he did it wasn’t what she was expecting. “I apologise for what I said regarding your engagement. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind.”

“It’s ok. I’m sure if I had slapped you wearing a ring, it would’ve left a mark.”

“Undoubtedly.” he paused, gazing at her steadily. “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned my escape. I had expected some kind of dressing down.”

“Well, I thought that you’d probably already been read the riot act by John…” his expression changed infinitesimally at the mention of John. Molly bit her lip, something wasn’t right. She knew from Mrs Hudson that John had moved back to Baker Street without any word of an explanation, he’d seemed distant when she’d popped by to ask about visiting the hospital and very abrupt when she’d asked about Mary. “…and I didn’t think you’d need it from me as well.” she finished quietly.

Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat.

“But I will say this…do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried we all were? You could’ve died you bloody idiot! Climbing out of a sodding window a week after you’d been shot in the chest, and here I thought you were intelligent.”

He remained completely impassive during her scolding, his fingers tapping lightly on the keypad. “Well…” he said finally. “…it’s nothing I haven’t heard already, though Lestrade included rather more expletives, as did Mrs Hudson.”

“I should think so too…” Molly said softly. “…and what about John? Did he swear at you?”

“A bit.” his face was still all wrong, she could tell he wasn’t being truthful.

She swallowed, wondering how to phrase her question in order to get a proper answer. “Is something wrong? With you and John?”

“No.”

Damn. “With John and Mary then?”

Sherlock sighed, pulling a face as he shifted in his bed. “How should I know? Surely that would be between them.”

Molly pressed her lips together, unconvinced by his denial. Something was definitely going on. “I only ask because John’s moved back to Baker Street and he won’t tell anyone why.” he didn’t reply so she decided to change tactics. “Greg told me that you won’t tell anyone who shot you…or even give the police a description.”

“Nice flowers.” he said tonelessly. “Really brighten the place up.”

She rolled her eyes, she knew full well that he probably hated the flowers, far too sentimental. “Don’t change the subject. You know who it was, if you didn’t you’d have just given the police a description when they spoke to you.” nothing. “Whoever did this to you needs to be caught! They need to be punished, Sherlock!” still he said nothing. “Oh, for god sake! Why are you protecting them!? They left you to die!!!”

“No they didn’t…” he said quickly, frowning at her. “…they saved my life.”

“They shot you, Sherlock! I would hardly call that saving your life!!”

“They called the ambulance…” he fired back. “…the one John called would’ve been too late, besides if they’d wanted me dead they would have shot me in the head.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re right. But if they’d wanted to incapacitate you, they could’ve shot you in the leg. Instead they chose to shoot you in the chest, where most of your vital organs are. Any of them could’ve been nicked by the bullet! They didn’t care if you lived or died!! They don’t deserve your protection, Sherlock!”

“Molly, just leave it.” Sherlock replied evenly, shooting her a warning look which she ignored.

“No, I won’t!! Who did it? Please, just tell me.”

He stared at her steadily. “You don’t want to know.” he said hollowly, his voice was icy and as empty as his eyes.

Molly shivered, tearing her gaze from his. This worried her. If she didn’t need to know, he would’ve said so. But he’d said she didn’t want to know, which meant it was bad. Probably someone she knew. No! No!! She thought, standing up quickly and turning to the window behind her, she couldn’t think like that. She leant against the sill so she could see the people below going about their normal lives. Not for the first time she wondered what it would be like to have a normal life. Where friends didn’t risk their lives on a daily basis or make demands for human heads or fingernails from a twenty-six year old woman with A+ blood type who’d been dead for a maximum of twenty hours. Though, to be honest, after eighteen months of at least attempting a normal life with Tom, she’d realised that it was completely overrated. Of course, that wasn’t a total surprise. She wasn’t exactly a normal person.

“Is he worth all of this?” she murmured, watching the progress of a woman pushing a pram along the pavement on the opposite side of the road. “Magnussen, I mean. Is he worth the drugs? Is he worth you getting shot and nearly dying twice?”

“Yes.” Sherlock replied roughly.

Molly nodded slowly, focussing her eyes on her reflection in the glass. “Worse than Moriarty?”

“Different to Moriarty.”

“Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“That’s all you need to know.” he responded. It was a few minutes before he spoke again. “I think I’ll have that water now.”

She brushed away a stray tear which had been making its way down her cheek before turning round and getting the requested water. “Here.” she said, handing the glass to him.

Sherlock sipped the water slowly, his blue-green eyes never once leaving her face, they darted from side to side in their sockets, giving away the fact that he was deducing her. “You were there, you know.”

She frowned. “I was where?”

“With me when I was shot. You saved me.”

“I-I wasn’t there Sherlock…” she said gently. “…John and the paramedics saved you. Not me.” 

He shook his head stubbornly. “No. It was you. You were in here…” he paused and tapped his forehead. “…telling me what to do.”

It took her a second to realise what he meant. “I was-I was in your Mind Palace?”

“Of course.”

Molly frowned. In her mind there was no ‘of course’. Though she knew that she counted and he trusted her, that didn’t mean he found her useful enough to have her in his Mind Palace. Not that she knew how such things worked, really. “You have people in there?”

“Only the important ones…” he replied, taking another sip of water. “…and Anderson, apparently.”

A snort of laughter escaped her. “Anderson is in your Mind Palace?”

“Hm…don’t know what was going on there.”

Molly chuckled and shook her head. “I promise not to tell him.”

Sherlock nodded tersely.

A few awkwardly silent minutes passed before Molly spoke again. “I should probably go, let you get some rest.”

He screwed his face up. “Rest?! That’s all I’m doing at the moment.”

“Good. You need it.” she replied, sweeping back round the bed and collecting her things before returning to his side. “Be good, won’t you? Do as the nurses tell you and don’t cause trouble.”

“Yes, mother.” he muttered petulantly.

Molly rolled her eyes and leaned down, brushing his dark curls off his forehead before pressing a light kiss to the pale skin there. “I’ll come and see you again tomorrow…” she said, straightening up. “…that is, if you want me to.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug but followed it with a brief nod, ten seconds later.

Smiling she leant down and kissed his cheek this time. “Right then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded again as she smiled at him before turning and leaving the room, closing his door softly behind her.


	2. The House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visit number 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly neither character belongs to me, though all mistakes are mine.  
> Please leave comments and criticism x x

It was pouring with rain as Molly left the warmth of Bart’s foyer and stepped out onto the darkened footpath, lit only by the orangey glow of the street lights. She flipped up her parka hood and sighed loudly, gloomily contemplating the wet journey home. 

She’d had the day from hell, there had been a huge accident in the city involving several cars and three cyclists, six people dead which had meant a lot of paperwork, to add to the huge stack of paperwork she’d been putting off all week. Plus the hospital had been crawling with journalists all wanting a story, after the news about Sherlock had been on every single news channel and plastered over every single newspaper, even the broadsheets. She’d avoided watching TV and examining newspaper stands when walking to work, since the news had broken two days ago, she didn’t particularly want to see the word MURDERER along side a grainy picture of Sherlock. Molly hated to think of him like that, she knew that he had to have had a good reason, she’d seen him when he’d been eradicating Moriarty’s web and she’d seen the state he got in when he’d had to kill someone. He didn’t talk about it, but she could always tell what he’d done. He wouldn’t have taken killing Magnussen lightly. And anyway, Magnussen was obviously a horrible man so frankly, the world was better off without him. Of course the law was the law and the world was currently waiting to find out what would happen to him. Molly was just worried about him. She didn’t know where he was but she hoped he was ok. 

Shivering, she drew her coat further around herself as she rounded the corner into Newgate Street, looking forward to getting home and having a nice long bath and a large glass of wine. She’d only made it as far as Café Nero when a car slowed down to crawl right beside her, Molly flinched and gripped the strap of her bag, it was late and while there were a few people around, it was hardly busy. Sometimes she thought that her job made her more paranoid than the rest of the population of London, after all every day she saw what violent criminals could do to someone in their way. So she had every reason to be wary. 

She stared determinedly ahead, subtly moving away from the road and closer to the buildings, while the car continued to creep along beside her. Suddenly her phone beeped from her coat pocket. She ignored it, getting her phone out when there was a potential mugger driving alongside her was a stupid move. Almost immediately the phone trilled again, again she left it, picking up her pace slightly. Even when it let out a volley of beeps, she ignored it and continued her power walk down the street, somehow resisting the urge to leg it to St Paul’s tube station. Then her phone began ringing, either it was just a coincidence or the texter was desperate. This time she got out the phone, jabbed the answer button and pressed it to her ear as quickly as possible.

“Yes?”

“Get in the car, Doctor Hooper.” 

She recognised the voice and ground to a halt, finally turning to look at the supposed curb-crawler, only to find a large, black and entirely familiar town car. Mycroft. The front passenger side door opened and a man in a dark suit stepped out, quickly opening the back door and motioning for her to get in. Molly hung up the phone and strode over, bending down and peering into the dark interior. 

Anthea, Mycroft’s PA, was sat in the opposite seat, tapping away on her iPhone. “I don’t have all day.” the brunette said flatly, without looking up.

Molly frowned but did as she was told, pocketing her phone and sliding into the seat beside the intimidating woman as the car door closed behind her. Seconds later the front passenger door closed and the car pulled away. 

“Where are we going?” she asked the other woman, who completely ignored her. With a sigh, she turned her attention to the buildings which were passing by the window as the car navigated the streets of London. There was little point in asking again, she knew from experience that Anthea wouldn’t tell her anything. 

After an immeasurable amount of time, the car slowed and pulled off the road. When the door opened, she climbed out and found herself standing in front of a large white townhouse which sat back from the road. There were wide windows set at regular intervals across the front of the building and a small porch with thick white pillars either side, which lead up to a big white door with a pretty stained glass window set into it. The door opened as they approached it, Molly crossed over the threshold into a gigantic entrance hall with marble floors and a sweeping staircase. Black suited men and woman loitered around, all wearing earpieces and eying her with suspicion. 

Standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, was Mycroft Holmes. Anthea led her across the floor, stiletto heels clicking as she walked while Molly’s sensible flats squeaked after sloshing through the rain. 

“Doctor Hooper.” the elder Holmes said levelly as they reached him.

“Mycroft. What’s going on?”

“You’re presence has been requested.” 

Molly blinked slowly and bit her lip. “Sherlock? Is he-is he here?”

Mycroft nodded. 

“Where? Where is he? Take me to him.”

“Oh, I will but first you must submit your personal items and consent to a body search.”

Molly raised her eyebrows. “Is that really necessary?”

“You have form, Doctor Hooper. You have already assisted my brother once.”

Rolling her eyes, she thrust her bag at the nearest black suit. “You know exactly how I managed to do that…” she muttered, yanking off her coat and handing it to the same man. “…do I look like I’m concealing a corpse about my person?”

“Nevertheless, as my dear brother says, you are not to be underestimated.”

She tutted but didn’t say anything as a female black suit moved forward and patted down her arms, torso and legs before stepping away. “She’s clear, sir.” 

“Good. Shall we?” 

She followed Mycroft up the wide staircase and along an equally wide corridor in silence, acutely aware that several of the men from downstairs were following them. The corridor was bare and white with the occasional side table, all carrying an identical lilac orchid. There was no artwork anywhere and the floor was covered in plush carpet which matched the walls. Finally they stopped in front of a plain white door, one of the suits stepped forward and unlocked it with a key card. 

She followed Mycroft in, her eyes taking in the large room which was as sparsely decorated as the corridor, there was only a king size bed, matching bedside tables and chest of drawers in the way of furniture. Standing by a huge bay window was Sherlock, he turned quickly, his gaze switching from Mycroft, to the men behind them before finally resting on her. The look on his face just about broke her heart. His guard was down almost completely and he looked shattered and empty and also a little bit wary. 

“You have thirty minutes…” Mycroft said quietly. “…not a minute longer.” with that Mycroft left, the click as the door closed telling them that they were locked in. 

She and Sherlock stood looking at each other, giving her an opportunity to examine his bloodshot eyes and the dark circles beneath. He looked exhausted and defeated. “Hi.” she murmured, shuffling her feet slightly.

“Hello.” he replied cautiously.

Molly bit her lip. “Are you ok?”

“No.” he said after a moment of deliberation. “I’m not ok.”

This answer harked back to that evening in the lab just over three years ago. The similarity terrified her. “What’s going on? Why did you want to see me?”

“I-I’m going away.” he said haltingly. 

“Where?”

“Eastern Europe.”

Molly folded her arms across her chest. “Because of…what happened?”

“Yes.” he replied curtly. 

She nodded slowly. “How-how long for?”

“Mycroft estimates it will last six months.”

“Will you be coming back?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling as she waited for the answer.

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes finally leaving her and skittering down to stare at the floor. She was grateful for the absence of scrutiny because at his answer her eyes filled with tears. 

Molly waited, hoping she wouldn’t cry as he appeared to consider something for a long moment before looking back at her. 

“When I say Mycroft estimates it will last six months, I mean he estimates I will last six months.”

She stared at him with wide eyes as what he’d said sank in. Now she did cry, fat tears spilled, unchecked down her face. “You-you mean…” he nodded curtly at the non-question. “…c-can they do that?” she stammered.

“Of course they can.” he said, turning away and striding back to the window. “It was this or prison. And since there’s no prison in the world that I could be sent to without causing a riot every day, it is their only option. The fact that I won’t return is a happy accident.”

“D-don’t s-say that.” Molly whimpered. “How c-can M-Mycroft allow this?”

Sherlock kept his stiff back to her, his arms hanging rigidly at his sides. “He has no choice, Molly. Besides, six months is longer than I’d last at Her Majesty’s pleasure.”

Molly flinched, brushing away her tears impatiently. It was a futile effort since they were now coming thick and fast. “B-but surely there’s a-another way…there h-has to be.”

“I must be dealt with…” he said softly. “…I am a murderer after all.”

She let out a broken sob. “P-please d-don’t call y-yourself that.”

“It’s what I am now.” he said, turning and shooting her a sad smile. “I shot an unarmed man in cold blood.”

“You h-had a g-good r-reason.”

“How would you know? You don’t know my reasoning.”

Molly sniffed, gathering herself together, willing away the tears, before walking over to him slowly. “I don’t n-need to. I know you had a good reason, otherwise y-you wouldn’t have done it.”

“You hold me in such high regard. I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do. You’re a g-good man Sherlock. Even though you p-pretend not to be.”

He snorted derisively, looking back out of the window.

“D-does John know?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he would try to stop it. Or try to come with me, which would not be a good idea with Mary in her present condition.” his voice was quiet and monotonous.

“John should know. He w-would want to know!”

He looked at her then, frowning darkly. “He can’t know. You can’t tell him, Molly.”

“Why?!” she demanded angrily.

Sherlock scoffed. “Because he would blame himself.”

“Why on earth would he do that?”

His eyes flickered shut and his head hung forward. “Because I did it to keep them safe. John and Mary and their baby.”

“I don’t u-understand.” she muttered confusedly. 

He sighed and turned away, sitting uneasily on the edge of the bed, motioning to the space beside him.

Molly crossed the space between the window and the bed, sat down and waited for him to start explaining.

“Please don’t interrupt. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this at all but I think that it is important, I would ask that you don’t mention it to anyone. Even John and Mary. Do you agree?” when she nodded her confirmation he started talking again. “Since we don’t have a lot of time…” he paused and looked at his watch. “…twenty-four minutes in fact, I will give you the short version. Mary is an ex-intelligence agent. An assassin…” Molly only just managed to hold in a gasp. “…Magnussen had information on her which would get her sent to prison for the rest of her life, if it came to light. She befriended Janine in order to get close to him. She broke into Magnussen’s office, just like John and I did, with the intention of murdering him. That’s when I walked in…”

“And sh-she shot y-you.” Molly croaked. She’d known it was bad that day in the hospital but she’d chosen not to think about it too much. He had been right, she didn’t want to know.

Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh. “You did agree not to interrupt.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Hmm…yes, she shot me because I was a witness. She could’ve killed both me and Magnussen but then John would’ve been a suspect. So she shot me and knocked Magnussen out. She intended to persuade me not to tell John but I made sure he found out…that was why I left the hospital. The three of us discussed the issue and I agreed to help Mary retrieve the information. And then I collapsed…”

“And almost died.”

He tutted. “Molly.”

“Sorry. Again.”

Sherlock harrumphed. “…a few weeks later I met with Magnussen and made a deal with him, Mycroft in return for a visit to Appledore. Before you say anything, I had no intention of handing over my brother, or any information on him, I merely wanted to see Magnussen’s ‘vaults’…” he made quotation marks with his fingers. “…in order to get the information on Mary. At the time I was under the impression that he had hard copies of everything. But as it transpired, everything he had was in his Mind Palace…” Molly sucked in a large breath. “…John and Mary would’ve been in danger if he’d lived so…”

“He had to die.” she whispered brokenly.

“Yes. I-I had to keep them safe. I promised.”

The tears which had abated just a little while he had been talking picked up again, pouring down her face and dripping, somewhat unattractively, off her chin. “Oh, Sh-Sherlock.” she murmured, reaching forwards and trapping his hands between hers, her thumb rubbing small circles into the top of his hand. He didn’t object, just let her hold onto him and comfort him.

“So you see…” he said after a long moment. “…John mustn’t find out. I’m afraid I must ask you to lie for me again.”

Molly smiled sadly. “You d-don’t have to a-ask, Sherlock. I’ll always h-help you…you know th-that.”

He gazed at her, disbelief evident on his face. “I don’t deserve you, Molly Hooper.”

She didn’t answer, instead squeezing his hand and changing the subject. “When d-do you l-leave?”

“Tomorrow at eleven. Mycroft’s private jet. John and Mary will meet me there, a last request if you will.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes while her tears slowed, outside she probably looked quite calm but inside she was in turmoil. She knew that the fact he was leaving and not coming back, wouldn’t sink in straight away, she probably wouldn’t accept it for a long time. But still there were things that needed saying. Abruptly, she stood up and stepped away from him, hating the confusion on his face. “There’s something I want to tell you…” she said softly. “…I never really envisaged actually saying it but since I won’t be seeing you again, I have to…” 

“Molly…”

She shook her head. “No. Please let me get this out.” she sucked in a deep breath. “You probably already know but I want to say it anyway…” Molly closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expression as she said it. “…I love you. A-Always have, always will. And I cannot let you leave without knowing that you are loved. So, so loved.” she brushed away more tears which had escaped her still closed eyes. The room was completely silent, she only realised he’d moved when she felt his hand cup her cheek. Her eyes snapped opened, her breath catching in her throat when she saw how close he was.

“Molly…” he breathed. “…if things were different. If I was different I…”

“No. Please, please don’t say it…” she begged. “…I couldn’t bare it.”

He exhaled, his breath ghosting across her face, making goosebumps erupt all over her body. Suddenly he moved his other hand up, placing it one the other side of her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones almost experimentally. His eyes never stopped moving, probably cataloguing everything from her irregular breaths to the flush which was spreading across her face and down her neck. He seemed to consider something for a few seconds before drawing her closer to him. She swallowed convulsively when he paused, his lips only centimetres away from hers. For a split second she thought he was going to back away but instead he closed the gap, pressing his lips against hers. Before she could even register what had happened he’d pulled away, eying her uncertainly. 

Molly gazed at him with wide eyes, unsure of how to proceed before it was taken out of her hands. Sherlock kissed her again, his lips more insistent this time. And, unlike the first kiss seconds before, she was prepared and immediately kissed him back with slightly more fervour that she intended. It was a little awkward and she could tell he was inexperienced but she didn’t care. His lips tasted of coffee, cigarette smoke and something else which she couldn’t quite place. Her arms seemed to move of their own accord, slipping round his waist and moving upwards so she could cling to his shoulders. 

Suddenly Sherlock pulled away, she let out an involuntary whimper as he sighed loudly. “For god sake, Mycroft. We have another five minutes!” he hissed, throwing an angry glare over towards the door. “The least you could do is give us the amount of time we agreed on!”

Molly peered to the left, surprised to find Mycroft standing in the doorway with the two black suited men visible in the corridor behind him, as her blush intensified she pressed her face against Sherlock’s chest, thoroughly embarrassed that a. she’d been so wrapped up in Sherlock that she hadn’t even heard the door opening and b. Mycroft had witnessed their kiss. 

If Mycroft was shocked by their embrace, he didn’t show it, his voice was as stoical as ever. “I am aware of that. I merely wanted to give you a five minute warning.” with that, he left.

“Molly?” Sherlock mumbled, after a few seconds passed.

She lifted her head reluctantly, peering up at him. He looked a little cautious, the only evidence of their tryst was the slight pinky hue of his lips.

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face before he lowered his head, his eyes never leaving hers as he pressed a sweet and languid kiss to her mouth. When he pulled away she was surprised to see his pupils dilated so much that she could only see a thin sliver of bluey-green iris. Sherlock let out a sigh, his eyelids fluttering closed as he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. Molly revelled in the feeling of skin on skin, allowing her own eyes to close as well.

“Promise me something…” she whispered, praying that her courage didn’t desert her now.

He hummed, a deep rumble in his chest. “What?”

After taking a deep breath, she removed her arms from around him and latched onto the lapels of his jacket. “Try-try to come home.”

“Molly…it’s…” he started, lifting his head.

She cut him off immediately. “No! I refuse to believe it’s a suicide mission!”

“Mycroft…”

“…could be wrong…” she finished. “…and even if it is the likeliest outcome…” Molly continued, hardly able to believe they were talking about his death so casually. “…don’t just accept it. Fight. Cheat death. You’re Sherlock Holmes. You’ve done it before, do it again.”

“I-I cannot promise I’ll come home.” he said finally, wiping away a tear she didn’t realise had fallen.

“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to try.”

He deliberated for a few excruciating seconds before answering. “Ok. But I require a promise in return.”

“Anything.” she replied impulsively.

“Be happy. Find someone who deserves you and can love you back.” tears began to fall again as she pressed her face into his jacket. “Promise me, Molly.” he whispered urgently.

“I p-promise.” she babbled over and over, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a tight and slightly snotty hug. She felt him move his arms from where they were trapped, awkwardly, between them and slide them around her waist. He clung to her like a drowning man, his own face pressed against her shoulder.

The remaining minutes slipped by quickly and all too soon, the door was opening again, though this time she heard it.

“Time’s up.” Mycroft said taciturnity.

Molly held on tighter, wishing she could spirit him away somehow. Even Sherlock seemed reluctant to move, squeezing her waist.

Mycroft sighed. “It’s time to go, Doctor Hooper!”

“In a minute!!” she snarled, pulling away only to glare at him.

Sherlock chuckled, clearly amused by her shouting at his elder brother.

She returned to her position, arms settling back around his neck. “Take care…” she breathed, fully aware that he thought it was a futile sentiment. “…and remember your promise.”

“And you remember yours.” he replied, his arms constricting around her before loosening.

Reluctantly, she withdrew her own arms and smiled sadly up at him before stretching up on tiptoe and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Doctor Hooper.” Mycroft chided.

Molly tutted. “I’m coming!!” she didn’t even look at him this time, preferring to drink in Sherlock’s face. 

“Thank you, Molly Hooper.”

“Anytime, Sherlock Holmes.”

After one last look she finally left the room, striding past Mycroft with barely a glance before hurrying away from the room without waiting for him. She wanted to leave as quickly as possible but she also wanted to stay in that room with Sherlock forever. She’d made it down to the cavernous entrance hall and was pulling on her khaki green parka when Mycroft appeared. Accepting her bag from one of the men, she turned to him. “I want you to tell me when…it…” she faltered. “…I mean if he…dies.” 

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. “It is not a question of ‘if’.”

“Yes, yes…he said, but I don’t believe it’s as cut and dried as that. Anyway, probability of it happening is irrelevant, I want to know…please.” 

“He won’t allow it.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “He won’t know. Please, Mycroft.”

“Why?”

She frowned, looking down at the toes of his highly polished, and no doubt expensive, brogues. “Because I want to mourn him properly, I couldn’t last time, because I knew he wasn’t dead. But now I-I’m the only person who’ll know the truth and he deserves to be mourned.”

Mycroft made a noise in the back of his throat, the tips of his shoes rising slightly as he rocked back on his heels. “Very well, I shall endeavour to inform you when it happens.”

“Thank you.”

He hummed. “The car will take you home.”

“Right. I’ll see you…whenever.”

“Indeed.”

Molly left the house swiftly, climbing into the waiting car. She kept her tears in until she finally strode into her flat and closed the door behind her and then she broke down. Sinking to the floor in front of her door and drawing her legs up to her chest, sobbing loudly into her tan trousers.


	3. Her Flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visit number 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sad to say that neither Molly or Sherlock belong to me, however the mistakes are all mine.  
> Please comment or leave constructive criticism x x

Molly was exhausted, she’d been awake for most of the night crying into her pillow and had fallen into a deep sleep around three in the morning, which meant she’d only had an two and a half hours of sleep. She’d been tempted to turn her alarm off and go back to sleep but she knew that if she stayed at home, she would just mope around, counting down the hours until eleven o’clock. So, she had got up, forced herself to eat breakfast and went off to work as if it were a normal day, and the love of her life wasn’t being sent away to his apparently certain death.

As soon as she got there she began regretting her decision, particularly when she went to lock her bag away and found the locker room full of overly chatty lab assistants and nurses. None of whom she was on speaking terms with and all of whom shut up as soon as she walked in, making it blatantly obvious what they’d been talking about. Still, she shoved her bag in the locker and left quickly, eager to get down to the solitude of the morgue and lab.

She knew there were a couple of pending post mortems to do but instead chose to closet herself away in the small cupboard sized room which was her office, ostensibly to work through the mound of paperwork she’d been putting off for days, though it actually turned into an exercise in clock watching. While Molly did try to concentrate, her eyes were inexorably drawn to the lucky cat shaped clock that hung over her desk. Time ticked by at a snails pace until the hour hand finally reached the eleven, then she watched as the minute hand got closer and closer to the large, red twelve at the top of the clock. By ten to eleven she couldn’t take the tension any longer or the heavy silence which filled the room, since she’d elected not to turn on the digital radio she kept in there. She hadn’t thought she wanted the noise but now she did, she absolutely did.

So, she left her office, climbing the stairs up one floor to the staff room, foregoing her usual coffee from the machine down the corridor from the lab, in favour of the nicer stuff and hopefully some company. 

Mike Stamford was the only occupant of the drab box room, he was sitting watching the BBC News 24 channel on the small TV, which was fixed in the corner of the room, whilst unenthusiastically picking at a granola bar. “Hi, Molly.” he said as she walked in.

She smiled wanly, muttering her greeting as she shuffled over to the small kitchenette and retrieved a mug and the coffee from the cupboard over the draining board. “D’you want one?” she asked, motioning to the jar of Kenco in her hand.

“No, thanks…I’m all set.” he replied, sipping from a bottle of water.

She nodded and turned back to the counters, spooning the coffee into her mug before filling it with boiling water from the water heater on the wall.

“Busy day?” the jovial man asked from behind her.

Molly hummed. “I’m trying to catch up on my paperwork.”

“Urgh! Bloody stuff. I’ve got reams of my own to do. I don’t suppose you fancy…”

“No, I don’t.” she replied, cutting across him with a smile.

“Ahh…it was worth a try.”

She finished making her coffee, listening idly to the news as she sorted through the biscuit tin for a chocolate one. With one located, she leant against the counters and sipped her drink, dunking the biscuit in while watching the tv and keeping an eye on the minute hand as it ticked onto the twelve. 

Her stomach gave a sick swoop. 11 o’clock. That was it, he was gone. She had thought that she might burst into tears but she only felt numb. She stared pensively down at her coffee wondering what life would be like with Sherlock gone permanently. It would be different to last time she supposed, though she’d still be dreading the phone call that told her he was dead. Only this time it was definitely going to come, at least according to Mycroft though she still didn’t believe he could possibly be certain about that. 

“Bloody thing!” Mike grumbled suddenly. 

Molly looked up. “What?”

“Oh…the tv…” he said, waving at the item in question.

She glanced at it, the picture was breaking up, interrupting the report on yet another lot of new NHS guidelines. “Probably a bad connection.” she said dismissively.

“Hm.” Mike grunted.

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t bother watching it, it’ll only be another load of paperwork for us to deal with.”

“True.”

“Speaking of paperwork, I’d better get back.” 

“Have fun.” Mike said sarcastically.

She laughed half-heartedly. “I very much doubt it.” Molly turned and headed for the door, only just drawing level with Mike’s row of seats when she heard it.

“Miss me? Miss me? Miss me?” the computerised voice said over and over. 

Molly swung round curiously, quickly freezing in place as she saw him. Jim Moriarty stared out at her from the television screen, his bottom jaw moving up and down manically in a crude imitation of talking. 

“Bloody hell!” Mike muttered as she let out a strangled gasp, her mug slipping from her hands.

It couldn’t be him, it just couldn’t. He was dead. He died. He blew his own brains out for god sake. Suddenly the room tilted, she heard Mike’s voice in the distance before she felt his hands grasp her elbows. 

“Molly?” Mike murmured. “Molly, are you alright?”

She didn’t reply, her head still spinning even though the light-headedness had dissipated slightly, leaving a faint feeling of nausea behind it.

“Molly…come and sit down.” Mike said gently, beginning to lead her towards a seat.

She shook her head violently, stumbling backwards out of his reach. “No, no, no, no.” she babbled, backing away from him. “I need to go. I need to go.” 

She left the room as quickly as she could, stumbling out into the corridor before turning and running through the hospital, her only thought was that she needed to get out and get somewhere safe. If Moriarty was back, he would find out that she’d helped Sherlock and he’d come for her. She knew he would. And so she ran, dodging doctors, nurses, patients and relatives, several times she narrowly avoided porters who were pushing around patients in beds. Eventually she burst out of the foyer, a stitch pulsing in her side as she stopped and gulped in fresh air while deciding what to do.

There weren’t many places she could go, she briefly considered Baker Street, but Mrs Hudson would be the only one home, there was also Meena’s flat but she was away with her boyfriend, Greg’s flat was another option but it was his day off and he’d mentioned something about meeting his brother for a beer. She wasn’t sure dragging someone else into this mess was a good idea, she would put them in danger and she didn’t want that, so perhaps she was better off alone.  


At that thought she reached a hand into her pocket, her hand curling around her key ring, which thankfully held her flat keys as well as her office keys, and what felt like a crumpled piece of paper money. On further inspection she found it to be a ten pound note that had obviously been through the wash several times, still at least she could get home. With that in mind, she jogged out onto the main road, and flagged down a black cab.

Fifteen minutes later she staggered through her flat door, slamming it quickly behind her before yanking the chain across. She then proceeded to check, double check and triple check every single window, stuffing each key into the pocket of the slouchy brown trousers she’d pulled on that morning. When she was sure the flat was secure, the nausea, which had been building all the way home, almost overwhelmed her. She made it to the bathroom just in time, throwing up noisily in the loo, retching over and over until her throat hurt. Once her stomach was empty she padded out of the bathroom, hunted for Toby, who she found lurking behind the sofa, and scooped him up, carrying him into her bedroom. She shut the door behind her before huddling under her duvet, keeping Toby clutched to her chest while she jumped at every noise, even the central heating clicking on and the faint sound of the bell dinging in the bookshop downstairs. 

The hours went by slowly and she didn’t move, not even when her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she had thrown up what little she’d eaten. She didn’t answer her landline when it began to ring, fearing the sound of his Irish lilt. Eventually the day started to draw to a close, by that point she was beyond exhausted and had been attempting to go to sleep in the hope that she’d wake up and find that the last two nightmarish days had been just that, nightmares.

She was just drifting off to sleep when she heard a loud crash from the living room, Molly sat bolt up right in bed, jostling Toby who hissed at her and disappeared under the bed, listening intently to see if she could hear anything else. Seconds later there was another crash followed closely by a third one. As she began to panic she heard a voice, only it wasn’t the voice she was expecting.

“Molly!! Molly!!” the voice shouted. “Molly are you here?!”

“Sherlock!” she gasped, hurling herself off the bed and out of the room, stumbling out into the living room. 

He was standing there, looking slightly frantic, his hair standing on end as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly and his eyes were slightly manic. “Molly!” he breathed.

She started across the room, completely ignoring the figure of Mycroft leaning against the door jamb as she threw herself, bodily, at him.

He caught her and held her close as he’d done the day before. “Molly, Molly, Molly.” he muttered over and over, his breath hot on her skin as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

“Sherlock…” she whispered. “…what are you doing here? I thought you’d gone. I thought…”

“I’m quite sure all of that can wait, Doctor Hooper.” Mycroft drawled lazily. “I assume you are unharmed so the panic was completely unwarranted.”

She practically felt Sherlock bristle at that as he let her go and turned to face his brother. His reaction confused her. “Of course I’m unharmed. Why…”

“I spoke to Stamford and he…” Sherlock started, cutting across her.

“As I said…there is time for that later, brother mine.” Mycroft said, coming further into her flat and closing the door behind him, the broken lock and chain clanking noisily as it shut. “Now, as I’m sure you are aware, circumstances have changed somewhat. The transmission you saw occurred worldwide. James Moriarty meant it as a warning…”

“Is it actually him then?” she asked uncertainly, wrapping her arms around herself.

Seemingly unconsciously, Sherlock drew her closer again, his arm slipping around her waist. “I don’t know yet, working it out.” he murmured softly.

“He’ll come for me, won’t he? If it is him.”

Mycroft answered before Sherlock could. “That cannot be ruled out which is why you will be leaving this flat in…” he paused and peered at the expensive watch on his wrist. “…a little over an hour. You will be taken to a safe house of my choosing, where you will remain until this whole mess has been dealt with.”

Molly was astounded, her jaw hanging open as she stared at Holmes the elder. She couldn’t believe that this had been decided without her. “But-but I can’t just leave! What about Toby? And work? And the rent? And all of my things?”

“Toby?” Mycroft queried.

“My cat.”

He grimaced in distaste. “I see. Well, the cat may accompany you I suppose. And you will continue going to work everyday as normal, though a car will drive you to and from St Bartholomew’s. You will pack your essential items, everything else will stay here. And you will also keep up with rent payments.”

Molly floundered. She was torn between feeling indignant at them presenting her with a fait accompli and relieved that she wasn’t overreacting. “Well, it seems I have no choice.” she muttered eventually.

“Good. Now that’s settled, I’ll leave you to pack. I will be back in one hour.” with that Mycroft left.

“Where were you?” Sherlock demanded as soon as he’d gone, withdrawing his arm from around her. “Stamford told me you disappeared after seeing him on the television. You didn’t answer your mobile phone or your landline. I called your vacuous friend Meena and she hadn’t heard from you. How could you have been as stupid as to leave the hospital?! At least you would’ve been relatively safe there!! Anything could’ve happened Molly!! He could’ve…I thought he had…” his voice died in his throat.

She was surprised to see how distressed he was by her absence. “I’m sorry, truly.” she said softly, stepping closer to him. “I panicked. Seeing him just…” breaking off, she shook her head. “…could it be him? He couldn’t have faked it could he? I mean, it’s one thing faking jumping off a building, it’s another faking shooting yourself in the head.”

He growled in frustration, ruffling his curls. “I don’t know. The picture wasn’t live so it could be someone using his image to cause panic. But I don’t know who. And I don’t like not knowing. Anyway, we need to get you somewhere safe and then I can concentrate on finding out what’s going on. We’d better get packing.”

“Oh, well…I can do that.” 

“I’ll help.”

“There’s really no need. I’m sure you have things to do and…”

Sherlock shook his head. “Not really. Besides, it’ll be quicker with two of us.” he strode off towards the bedroom, leaving her to trail after him. “I’m sure there are things in your chest of drawers you’d rather pack yourself, so I’ll take the wardrobe.”

“Right…ok.” she said, but he’d already turned towards the wardrobe, hefting down the suitcase she kept on top of it. Molly stood watching feeling distinctly uncomfortable. 

He deposited the case on her bed, catching her eye as he straightened up.

“I-I thought you were leaving.”

“I was. I was only away for four minutes and then this happened. Apparently England needs me now.” he said, smiling humourlessly.

Molly frowned, she hated the fact that people were using him like that. One minute he was public enemy number one and the next he was needed to save England. “How’s John…and Mary?”

“Fine. They’re safe at Baker Street with Mrs Hudson, Lestrade arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Mycroft has people watching them.” he paused, unzipping the case. “Right now, my priority is you.”

She smiled softly as he turned back to the wardrobe and began pulling things off the hangers, she had expected him to simply throw them into the case but instead he folded each thing and placed it neatly into her yellow Tripp suitcase. She also noticed that he was very selective with what he packed, choosing her favourite cherry print cardigan but leaving an ugly floral blouse that she hated. She knew that she should get on with packing but she still felt incredibly embarrassed. When she’d confessed all the day before, she hadn’t thought she’d be seeing him ever again, let alone the following day after Moriarty had apparently made a spectacular return. “Sherlock…” she said uncertainly, he hummed in reply. “…what I said yesterday…in that room, a-about me l-loving you.” she murmured, cursing her stammering. “I…”

“Going to take it back?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Molly shook her head swiftly. “No, of course not. I just…I hope that it won’t make things difficult or…”

“Why would it make things difficult? I already knew of your feelings, though actually hearing you say it was interesting.”

Molly spluttered. “Interesting?!”

“Yes. Problem?”

“Well, when hearing someone say…um…that, interesting is not the word that is usually used.” 

“Oh. But it was. Interesting, that is…” he paused and cleared his throat. “…as was my reaction.”

Molly’s cheeks heated up, she hadn’t really given much thought to his reasons behind kissing her. She supposed that he’d just felt desperate because he was leaving.

“My reaction in that room was purely instinct. You were standing in front of me and I…what I felt was…you’re…” Sherlock stopped again, sighing heavily. “…feelings are not my area. But when I couldn’t find you, I felt…scared. Terrified. I thought that Moriarty or whoever is behind this had already got to you, that I was too late.” he stopped, looking completely uncertain. “What I’m trying to say is that you count Molly. Always. And I’m going to keep you safe. I promise.” he closed the gap between them and cradled her face as he had before. “Moriarty will never touch you. I swear.”

She gazed up at him, tears welling up in her eyes. “I thought you were only making one vow in your life.”

“Well, one more won’t hurt.”

She gave him a watery smile as he ducked down and pressed his lips against hers. “I’m so glad you’re here.” she murmured as he gathered her up in his arms.

“As am I.” he rumbled back. “But we’d better get on with the packing.”

She nodded, stepping back as he released her. “And we need to get Toby in his carrier.”

Sherlock grimaced. “I had scratches all over my arms when we did that last time. So I think I’ll leave that to you.”

“Gee, thanks.” she grinned.

He smiled back as they both turned away to get on with their respective packing tasks. 

Thankfully the crushing terror she’d felt before had subsided. Of course she was still scared about the prospect of Moriarty being back but Sherlock was there and clearly not going anywhere for the foreseeable future. She trusted Sherlock and, to a slightly lesser extent, Mycroft, to keep her safe.


	4. The Hospital Revisited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visit number 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I do not own Sherlock or Molly.  
> Unbetaed so all mistakes are mine.  
> Please comment x x

Molly was uncomfortable. It seemed like her whole body was pulsing with pain, all radiating out from a particular point in her side. Even her eyeballs hurt, the inside of her eyelids scratching them, like they’d been covered in sandpaper, as she pried them open. Her head felt fuzzy, as if there was cotton wool where her brain should be. She knew there was something not right, but she couldn’t quite remember what.

Slowly, she looked around, wincing at the grittiness of her eyes. Above her was a plain white ceiling with round spot lights dotted around, which were no help whatsoever. She couldn’t work out where she was just by some ceiling lights. She wasn’t Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock! Her brain clung onto his name. Something had happened and Sherlock had been there. Was he ok? Had he been hurt? She didn’t know. There was something but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was. Instead there was just a huge black hole and it scared her.

She let out a groan contemplating turning her head so she could see the rest of the room. 

“Molly?” said a familiar voice from close by.

“Sherlock?” she croaked, looking wildly towards the voice.

He was moving towards her, looking slightly fuzzy around the edges but she thought that was just her eyes. “I’m here.” her eyes finally focussed on him as she attempted to sit up, his hands were on her shoulders immediately, pressing her back onto the bed. “Stay lying down, Molly. I’ll get a doctor.”

“No!” she gasped, moving her stiff arm up so she could clutch his wrist with clumsy fingers. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

“Molly…” he murmured calmly. “…I need to let your doctor know you’re awake. I won’t be long.”

“Please.” she whimpered, imploringly. She didn’t know why she didn’t want to be alone, just that she didn’t, she really, really didn’t.

Sherlock frowned down at her. “I’ll be right back.”

“No.” she insisted, tightening her grasp on his bony wrist.

He sighed heavily and leaned across her, she didn’t know what he was doing until a loud and repetitive beeping filled the room, within seconds the doors to the room flew open and at least three people in white coats burst in, followed by a stampede of people wearing blue scrubs. They all ground to a halt gazing at her and Sherlock.

“Doctor Hooper is awake.” Sherlock said evenly.

One of the lab coated people groaned. “Mr Holmes, we have told you repeatedly, that the alarm is for emergencies only!”

“What was I supposed to do? Doctor Hooper requested that I stay with her, had I left she would’ve, no doubt, become agitated.”

The doctor sniffed and peered down at her. He was quite portly, with greying curly hair and small glasses which were perched on the end of his nose. “Doctor Hooper…my name is Doctor Stevens. I assume you know where you are.”

“Hospital.” she murmured, squeezing Sherlock wrist again.

“That is correct. You are at King Edward VII’s Hospital in Marylebone. Do you remember what happened?”

“Not really. It’s all a little bit fuzzy.”

The doctor hummed. “Quite normal in this situation. Mr Holmes, we need to examine Doctor Hooper, if you would step outside.”

“No.” Molly whispered, tightening her grasp on the Consulting Detective once again as she turned her head to plead with him, wincing as a sharp pain shot through her skull. “Please stay.”

“Is that really necessary?” he asked crisply, frowning at Doctor Stevens.

“I’m afraid so, even if you were a relative we would ask you to leave.”

Sherlock’s eyes dropped down to her. “I have to go.”

“Please.” she whimpered.

He sighed and reached out, with the hand she didn’t have in a death grip, and cradled her face. “I will be right outside, Molly. I promise. And when they’re done, I’ll come back in. Ok?”

“R-right outside?” she verified.

Sherlock nodded. “Right outside.”

She let him go and watched as he left her bedside, striding out of the room quickly.

“I’d hold onto him if I were you.” one of the nurses, who’s name badge read Louisa Thorpe. “He’s what my mum would call a keeper.”

“Oh. Oh no, we’re-we’re not together.” Molly replied uncomfortably, hoping they’d just drop it. Truthfully, she wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with Sherlock. Since he’d burst, rather heroically, into her flat two and a half months ago, with the intention of rescuing her from Moriarty, they’d shared several kisses, one or two had been slightly heated but that was where it had stopped. They’d never discussed it and frankly, she was a little scared to ask in case she got the answer she was dreading. 

The nurse flushed. “Oh, sorry…I just assumed. He’s been so worried, he’s barely left your room since you arrived.”

“We’re just friends.” Molly replied, offering the other nurse her arm so she could take her blood pressure. 

The nurse, whose name was apparently Melissa Riley, fixed the cuff on quickly and stepped back. “I didn’t recognise him without his hat.”

“If we could return to the task in hand.” The doctor said curtly.

Both nurses apologised and got on with their task. 

As it was, she was glad they’d asked Sherlock to leave. The examination was quite thorough. Doctor Stevens and the two nosy nurses, fussed around her bed, taking her blood pressure and temperature, removing her catheter (which was horrible) before checking her dressings. She let them get on with it, only half listening to what they were saying. She gathered from what the doctor and the nurses told her, that she had a stab wound in her side and had been hit, rather hard, over the back of the head. As they spoke, what had happened came back in flashes. She’d left the safe house Mycroft and Sherlock had placed her in to search for Toby, who’d been missing for three days and something had hit the back of her head. Then everything went a little hazy, she remembered waking up in a freezing cold room and hearing a man with a cruel voice taunt her about Sherlock and Moriarty, then there was another blank space but she could clearly remember hearing Sherlock’s voice and John’s voice and then there had been a terrible pain in her side and then, nothing.

“Are you nearly finished?” she asked, wincing as Doctor Stevens poked around at the back of her head.

“Yes, not long now.” one of the nurses replied reassuringly.

Finally, after a few more minutes, they were done, at which point, Sherlock strode back in. 

“Are you done?” he demanded.

Doctor Stevens nodded. “We are…” he paused and turned to Molly. “…you need to rest, Doctor Hooper. Mr Holmes, she must stay calm.”

As soon as they left he dragged a chair close to her bed and sat on it, resting his arms on the mattress beside her.

Molly gazed at him, glad that he’d come back as he promised. She examined his expression and realised, quite quickly, that he was blaming himself.

“Stop it.” she murmured.

He looked up, his extraordinary eyes betraying how he was feeling. “This is my fault.”

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “No. It’s mine. I chose to leave that flat, even though you and Mycroft told me not to.”

“But it’s my fault you were even targeted in the first place. If I hadn’t asked you for help then…”

“Stop it!” she said again. “I wanted to help. That was my decision. None of this is your fault.”

“I promised.” he whispered brokenly, pressing his face against his forearms. 

Molly sighed and reached out, avoiding looking to closely at the cannula in her hand, and threaded her fingers through his dark curls. “You promised that Moriarty would never touch me and he didn’t.”

“But someone else did.”

“But I’m ok.” she breathed, winding one of his curls around her finger. “Who was he anyway?”

“Sebastian Moran.” he replied. “Moriarty’s right hand man, so to speak.”

“But I thought you’d broken up his network.”

“So did I. Turns out the person I thought was Sebastian Moran was merely an imposter. The real Moran was busy planning how to get to you…” he broke off and looked up at her blearily. “…when I saw him stab you…I thought we were too late. I thought you were…”

She shushed him gently, moving her hand out of his hair so she could cup his face. “I’m fine. A little worse for wear but no lasting damage.” 

“I let you down, Molly.”

“No you didn’t!! You saved me, Sherlock.”

He scowled. “I froze. Lestrade dealt with Moran and John took care of you and I just froze. If it had been left down to me, you would’ve died.” with that he wretched himself from her reach and strode over to the window.

“Sherlock…” she said softly. “…it’s not your fault and you certainly haven’t let me down. If you hadn’t found me, he would’ve killed me, you know he would have.”

“Still…”

“Still nothing.” she snapped, cutting him off. “You found me. You saved me. And that’s the end of it.”

He remained at the window, staring out through the glass.

“Sherlock…” she murmured after a few minutes. “…come and sit down, please.”

He turned slowly and strode back to his chair.

She looked down at his hands. There was so much she wanted to talk about with him, like what their relationship was, and what happened now with regards to his exile. But she was afraid of the answers. So she plumped for her least scary question. “So…tell me, how is everyone?” 

He shrugged. “Fine. Everyone is fine. Worrying about you mostly.”

Molly frowned. “And-and what about you? Are you…are you leaving now?”

There was a beat of silence before he answered. “No.”

Her heart leapt, relief coursing through her.

“Since I managed to deal with the situation, apparently the powers that be decided to overlook my…behaviour. More likely, Mycroft told them to overlook my behaviour.”

She smiled humourlessly. “I’m glad. Really…I was worried that, now it’s over, you’d have to…” Molly trailed off, shaking her head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Molly.” he said firmly.

Molly looked up at him, her brown eyes locking with his. “Good.”


	5. The Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visit number 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As will all the others, I don't own Sherlock or Molly, unfortunately.  
> Mistakes are all mine.  
> Please comment x x

Molly couldn’t sleep. And while that was routine after recent events, her sleeplessness was usually due to bad dreams filled with a callous voice and the feeling of being cold. Tonight though, it was something else. She had been kidding herself for the last hour that it was because she simply wasn’t tired, but it was actually because she was too preoccupied with listening to her flatmate moving around downstairs. He’d had the television on for a while, played something sweet and melodious on his violin and was now stomping around loudly, moving around the living room and into the kitchen and back again.

She’d been discharged from hospital two weeks ago and had accepted Sherlock’s somewhat surprising invitation to take John’s empty room, while she recuperated and found herself a new flat, since Moran had torched hers when he’d found it empty. The trouble was she found herself rather dancing around the issue of their relationship, or rather non-relationship since no more kissing had taken place. Of course she did want to know the answer but she was also scared that it wouldn’t be what she wanted to hear. Still, it was getting to the point where she couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer. She was going to have to find out where she stood, one way or the other. 

Suddenly there was a light knock on her bedroom door, frowning, Molly sat up slowly, flicking on her bedside lamp as she listened intently for any movement on the small landing outside her room. After a few minutes of complete silence, she wondered if she’d imagined it.

Then there was another knock followed by a quiet voice. “Molly?”

On impulse she clutched the duvet further around herself, it was silly because he’d seen her in pyjamas loads of times but still she couldn’t help herself. “Come in.”

The door opened and Sherlock stepped in, looking slightly deranged. His hair was sticking up on end and his dressing gown was hanging limply off one shoulder, while the neck of his blue t-shirt was misshapen as if he’d been pulling on it.

“Ok?” she asked uncertainly.

He nodded, tugging on his neck line, stretching it further. “I was hoping we could…talk.”

“Oh…” she said softly. “…about what?”

“Our…relationship.”

Molly shifted self consciously in her bed. “Do we have one?” 

“I don’t know. Do we?” he fired back immediately.

She didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t know the right answer. “We can…” Molly said finally. “…talk. I-I would like that.”

He looked slightly less panicked at those words, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. He then stood there awkwardly, gazing at her. He remained that way for a few long minutes before letting out a growl of frustration. “Oh for god sake!” he snapped as he began pacing backwards and forwards between her wardrobe and the large window. “This is stupid! I knew exactly what I was going to say when I was downstairs!” 

Molly watched his progress silently, wondering how best to help him. “Sherlock.” she called, hoping to distract him from his one man marathon. But he didn’t react. “Sherlock!” she said loudly. Still there was nothing. “Sherlock!!” she all but screamed, this time he ground to a halt, turning on his heel to look at her. “Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous with all this pacing.”

To her surprise he did as she said, stomping over and sinking down onto the bottom left hand corner of her bed. She wondered if she should be concerned by the fact that he was about as far away from her as he could get, while still sitting on the bed. But there was little point it attempting to guess what he was going to say, so she waited patiently while he continued to wrestle with his words.

“I am a ridiculous man…” he said finally, his neckline now even baggier than it was when he walked in. “…I am ignorant to all kinds of relationships. I am learning what it means to have friends, and, as you know, I'm still frankly baffled by the fact that I have a best friend. But I believe I am improving, John doesn’t admonish me nearly as much as he used to. And I don’t believe I have said anything ‘not good’ in at least a week. However, with regards to romantic relationships, I am still woefully unaware.” he paused and finally left his neckline alone, moving his hands down so they were resting on his knees, tracing concentric circles into the striped blue fabric of his pyjama bottoms. Meanwhile Molly was trying to slow her breathing down and wishing her heart wasn’t pounding so loudly in her chest that she thought he must be able to hear it. “I realise that on the face of it, I am probably not the most attractive package. I will undoubtedly hurt you and make you cry without meaning to. I will forget apparently important dates such as anniversaries and I will almost certainly never bring home flowers or chocolates. I think it is highly unlikely that we would ever have a conventional relationship. I doubt we will go to the pub at weekends, nor will we ever walk a dog though I suppose you could meet my parents, if you would like to.” she realised quickly that those were the things she’d blurted out about Tom, all those months ago in the hall way of Howard, the train man’s, building. “So…” he said loudly, standing up again. “…to sum up. I have absolutely not idea what I am doing or how a romantic relationship works, but I would like to try. If you are amenable, that is.”

Molly sat perfectly still, the words of his slightly awkward and stuttering speech reverberating around her brain. She couldn’t quite believe he’d sat in front of her and said all of that, and while it had been clumsy it had also been adorable. She hadn’t thought she could love him any more than she already did, but somehow that speech had done it. 

She realised, a little belatedly that he was waiting nervously for an answer. “Come here.” she said softly, patting the space beside her. “Under the cover you doofus.” she laughed as he made to climb onto the bed.

“Doofus?” he grumbled, pulling off his dressing gown and draping it over the foot of his bed. “What kind of insult is that?”

“An American one.” she smirked, turning off the lamp before slipping down the bed so she was lying on her uninjured side.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slipped under the floral duvet, lying so he was mirroring her position.

A few minutes passed with them just gazing at each other until she felt his fingers grazing her own. She smiled and reached out, lacing her fingers around his. 

“Doofus or not…” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “…I do love you. So of course I would be amenable to trying with you.”

For the first time in days he smiled, a wide genuine smile which made the corners of his eyes crinkle up and was just for her. With the smile lingering, he brought their joined hands up and rested her palm against his chest. Beneath her hand, his heart was hammering just as fast, if not faster than hers. Molly grinned before grabbing a handful of his soft jersey t-shirt, pulling him towards her and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.


End file.
